Page 112 of Fate's Crossing

“Upstairs,” Nico mouthed to the rest of them.

The soft scuff of their boots was the only sound as they ascended the old staircase, Nico in the lead. When he reached the top, he paused, then crept down the unlit hallway. Each room sat open. Empty. Frank and Zoe checked them one by one, softly calling out “clear” to each other as they went, while Seth watched their backs from the rear. Nico continued on to the last door. It was closed. A slice of warm light spilled out from under the threshold. They surrounded it. Nico made eye contact with Seth and gave him a nod. Interpreting the order, Seth stepped forward and grabbed hold of the brass knob. After a confirmatory look at his companions to ensure their readiness, he flung it open. The four of them flooded in, converging on an old armchair that sat facing a bright, crackling fire on the far wall. The silhouette of a person occupying it was distinct. Nico edged around, dodging a lamp table and piles of books as he went. George Riley sat slumped over a near-empty whiskey bottle, a pump-action shotgun in one hand, and a photograph of his family—himself, Esme, and Sara when she was only small—in the other.

Very slowly, very carefully, Nico approached him. “George?”

His body jerked, as if the sound of Nico’s voice had knocked him out of some kind of stupor. George’s glassy eyes glanced around, took in the uniformed bodies, the badges, the guns pointed at him. He seemed surprised, at first, then relieved. Coming back around to look at the photo in his hand, he started to sob like a child. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Nico soothed, taking another step forward.

“She killed them,” George cried, his hand clenching around the barrel of the gun, making everyone shift nervously. “I didn’t know.”

Having his suspicions about Esme confirmed, Nico tried to control the spitting rage and panic bubbling up inside him. He was so close . . . “George, where is Lexie? Is she here?”

“I found out what she’d done, but it was too late. They were dead. Then she made me hurt that man. I didn’t want to,” he rambled, liquor and guilt having loosened his tongue.

“Hurt who?” Nico frowned. They didn’t have time for this.

George looked at him. “She said she’d tell everyone that it was me all along, but I didn’t kill them. I-I didn’t—”

“Tell me what happened. Tell me what you’ve done.” Nico was running out of patience, and it showed. “Where is Lexie?”

George’s face warped in anguish until he was unrecognizable to the man he once was. “It’s already too late,” he said pitifully, and something inside Nico broke.

Before anyone could respond or intervene, George lifted the shotgun and nestled it under his chin.

Nico lurched forward. “No! Don’t—”

The room exploded with a deafening crack. Nico felt the warm spray of blood across his neck. His ears rang. When he lowered his arm, which had reflexively flown up to protect his face, George Riley was dead.

Nobody said anything for long moments. Nico felt the crush of his failure suffocating him. He’d promised to keep Lexie safe. She had been depending on him to keep that promise. Now, the only person who might have known where she was just blew his brains out.

“Kid, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t.” Nico held his hand up to Frank. “Just don’t”

Pacing away from the weight of all their eyes, Nico dragged his feet down the stairs, out the door, and into the front yard, where he let the fury inside him seethe and build and boil over. “Fuck!”

His shout pierced the night. Not even crickets dared to chirp after it. But then something else rang out, something that filled him with hope and terror all at once. A woman’s scream. It was faint, somewhere in the distance, but it was real. A look back at the others, who’d raced out to join him seconds later, confirmed they’d heard it too. Then it happened again, a spine-chilling sound of fear and suffering wafting through the trees. Turning toward it, Nico sleuthed through his memory of the times he’d been here in the daylight. He remembered the way the house looked as he’d stood in front of it, aged and steadily falling apart. The barn wasn’t much better—

The barn.

The woman screamed a third time, and Nico took off like a shot into the darkness.

Chapter thirty

Hope flooded Lexie’s system in a powerful pulse. She bent her wrist, gritted her teeth against the pain, and tore through the last remnants of the duct tape. Adrenaline stirred, fresh tendrils of it surging through her veins as she felt it give and peel away. Her eyes skittered to Esme who’d run out to investigate the shot. Through the open doorway, Lexie could see the front end of her car, and realized that they weren’t in a cellar or a basement, but something much bigger, like a barn.

Oh, god. What if this doesn’t work? What if she catches me before I can reach the gun? What if it isn’t even in there? Well, she thought, with a lump in her throat and a picture of Nico in her mind, then I will die trying.

Esme was coming back now, her features painted with anger and fresh resolve. Lexie whimpered, watching her stalk toward her. She counted down in her head as Esme raised the knife—three, two, one, go!—and burst from the chair, throwing herself toward the wall. Her knees buckled as soon as she put weight on them, grazing roughly against the floor. Her limbs felt weak. Wild thrums of her heartbeat belted her ears. She dove her hand into the purse and dug around in desperate search of the one last hope she had. About the same instant she felt the gun touch her fingers, Esme’s own hand tangled in her hair, and she was dragging her back with brute force. Lexie let out a bloodcurdling scream as she felt a hot slice of pain in her side.

“Bitch!” Esme launched her across the room with a strength she had no right to possess. The metal chair, still bound to Lexie’s other wrist, came too, thrashing against her as she smashed into the opposite wall.

Lexie’s vision danced and swayed. Her head, her back, her whole body screamed out in agony. She tried her best to follow Esme’s movements, watched as she advanced on her with wrath in her eyes and fresh blood on her hands. But then, like the hand of god himself had slapped her, Esme’s features changed. Shock, disbelief, scorn, all mixed together, bathing her in a wicked scowl.

“Do you even know how to use that?” she asked, eyeing the barrel Lexie had pointed at her.

Lexie cocked the hammer. “Try me.”

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